Clockwork Days
by Personality Test
Summary: If only time could be turned back, to those clockwork days I loved. KanoKido, AU.


A/N: orz what have I done, guys. Apparently I've read way too much of Tammy's comics, because the characterization here makes Kano a lot less creepy than he is in the source material. And not to mention Kido - I think I made her way too OOC. I swear to god I didn't plan to make her a *spoiler* (the spoiler tag will be explained at the end) in the beginning; I just wanted her to angst a bit and somehow 50-ish loops of Scarborough Fair/Canticle later it's come to this. The song is awesome though xD

Edit: Fixed the mismatched lyrics.

Second A/N: SInce I've started re-reading this and realized there is room for development, I might consider writing another chapter or two. If anyone wants it... Yeah...I'll probably just go now. \shot for awkwardness

Disclaimer: if I owned Kagerou Project, I would've asked the guys at Shaft to make the animation a bit smoother...but of course the animation still looks jarring, so that's a no.

* * *

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme_

_Remember me to one who lives there_

_She once was a true love of mine  
_

_._

_._

_._

"You are a rotten liar, Tsubomi." He would say affectionately, and I would retort back with a scathing remark and occasionally, a punch to the side.

It was like clockwork.

* * *

I wonder what I have been doing these past few days.

I think I woke up at seven AM. It was probably earlier, though, because if I remember correctly the sky was still dark when I first opened my eyes. Still, it is winter, so it's much harder to gauge the time since it could be anything from five to eight. I'd put it down at seven, then, since it seems to be the most plausible.

Seven it is, then. I really need to try to wake up a little earlier next time, since the market closes at eight. At this rate, I won't be able to buy groceries for the day, and because all the restaurants in this small town close rather early, I'll have to live off the sparse leftovers from a few nights ago. And since the microwave's broken, the leftovers taste bland and cold, made even worse by the chilly winter air. Besides, I can't eat that kind of frozen food anyway – I've been eating it for quite a few days, and I'm sure it isn't very good for my health.

I disregard the notion – surely, another day wouldn't hurt. If he was here, he'd throw all those expired stuff away and start stocking the fridge with fresh groceries; he's just precocious that way. But he hasn't returned, and I'm sure that as long as I don't tell him he wouldn't know. I make a promise to myself – one more day, just one more day, and tomorrow I'll set the alarm and buy some fresh produce. After all, I still have to wait. He will walk through that door again, and I'll be here to welcome him back.

* * *

I remember the columns of smoke that once decorated the sky.

Of course; I remember them all too well. The blood staining my military clothes, the sounds of cannons and sniper rifles that deafened my ears, leaving me with hearing loss, even now; the destruction that scarred my mind forever to the point where I always wake up in cold sweat, crying silent tears for the lives that were lost in the battlefield.

Oh, no, no, I mustn't glorify it; best say it as it is. Those were the lives that I…took. I killed them with my own hands.

Yes, that is better. He always says I am a rotten liar and I'd be better off telling the truth – he would be proud of me, he really would. I wish he could see this right now; he would smile that kind of half-smirk that pisses me off sometimes, and then he would hug me affectionately until I manage to push him off me. He wouldn't be shocked, far from it – he is far too used to my antics – and instead he would ask me, in his cheerful tone, what's for dinner, to which I would reply with a shrug.

I love those clockwork days.

Thinking about those days always brings a smile to my face, but then the smile dims a little when I remember that he isn't here. He is always away for business for months on end; I wonder why it takes so long this time. And when he left, he seemed really serious, too, as if it were a matter of life and death. I never found the will to ask, even in the few letters I send him. He never replies, but somehow the letters always end up tattered and worn out – he must have misplaced them somewhere until they were dust-covered, and so I scold him for his incredible lack of organization and he replied with an not-so-apologetic smile.

Naturally, I find it a little strange, but it's fine. He can have his secrets; after all, I have mine. As long as our secrets don't destroy the little peace I have in my hands…

I wonder what he'll say when he knows that I've killed people. I don't remember how many; their grief-stricken faces and terrified eyes blend together eventually, and I've long since ran out of fingers to count. My tears have also dried up to the point that I don't bat an eyebrow when a bullet finds its mark – a target eliminated, a heartbeat stopped, a loved one lost. I can't care less, not anymore. That is why they call me a hero, is it not? My greatest nemesis, the figurehead of the opposing army, the little pest that danced around us, taunting and tricking us – it took me some time, but I shut him up, eventually. They called me a hero for that, and I didn't care; all I wanted to do was go back to my little cottage beside the sea, where he is waiting for me. But his business, it seems, isn't over, because he still is away, and every morning I wake up alone and hugging the blanket close to my chest to chase away the chill of the early winter morning.

The cold stays anyway, and slowly, gradually, I begin to forget what warmth is.

* * *

Hibiya invites me out for a drink.

I have been a recluse for far too long, he says. I'm rotting in that tiny cottage waiting in futility; my trainees would weep when they see me like this; I'm wasting my time of peace all alone, visible to no one – it is nothing I haven't heard before. I tried to close the wooden door in his face, but it seems that his reflexes have improved over the course of his training – he stopped the door in its tracks and pushed it open, dragging me along on the all-too-familiar beaten track to the most crowded part of town. Hibiya can be really demanding sometimes; I think he got that from Hiyori, his on-and-off girlfriend. I remember the other trainees kept making bets over how long it would take them to break up or get back together – I just rolled my eyes and ordered them to do another fifty push-ups.

"Do you know what today is?" He asks in all seriousness. I rack my brain trying to remember what kind of significant event today is – Hiyori's birthday? Mine? I don't think today is anyone's birthday, but then it seems strange for Hibiya to drag me out of the house when he clearly knows that I will get him back for this offense.

"I…"

The brunette rolls his eyes exasperatedly. "It's the war, Leader, the one that you ended single-handedly exactly one year ago. You can't tell me that you don't remember."

I don't remember anything about the war – in fact, I have spent the better half of the year trying to erase it from my mind as completely as possible, and judging from my dumbfounded look Hibiya realizes it, too. He sighs again – though this is more pity than exasperation – and leads me through the crowd to a rather sparse corner of the bar.

"In memorial." He says when I open my mouth to protest. "To the innocents that died, whether by our hands or not."

Well, I can't exactly argue with that, can I? "In memorial." I echo his words.

The next few minutes pass in silence.

This was a bad idea. I've tried all this year to forget anything that has the remotest connection to that cursed war, and I'd almost succeeded. I was beginning to forget, but this encounter with Hibiya…the moments spent reminiscing and experiencing pain and loss and death all over again resurface and strike with full force, resenting me for ever sealing them away in a corner of my mind. I need to leave, now, if I want to retain a part of my sanity.

"You know…" Hibiya ponders as he takes another sip of burning whisky. "I kinda feel sorry for that general – the one you killed. Word from the prison cells is that he originally wanted to stay away from the war and live a quiet life with his wife, but he was too good a strategist for them to let him go."

Just a little more, I tell myself. Just humor him for a bit and tell him I have something else to do later. "Don't be naïve, Amamiya. Rule number one: never show sympathy to your enemies."

"He's dead." Hibiya retorts. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"So if he's dead, that gives you the right to gossip about him like good-or-nothing housewives?"

Hibiya snorts derisively. "I never said so – just wanting to talk, you know, get those memories out of my system. They say it's a great way to get rid of nightmares, and Hiyori's pretty much sleepless this past year because I keep screaming in my sleep. It's more horrible than you'd think."

That, I can relate with. I've been screaming as well, only there is no one in the empty cottage to hear. "…I see."

That's what war does to people – I realize that now. Innocents are the first to fall; and those who live, whether they have blood on their hands or not, will never be the same again. Hibiya and I, we are just two among many examples, and it shows most clearly in our gaunt faces; the disillusioned, pessimistic mindset; the utter emptiness in the eyes. It was also why I, when I was still leader of the Army, set the survivors of war apart from the other trainees – to torture them more than they already were would be just plain cruel.

"So why talk about that one? You know I don't like reliving that particular memory." I chide lightly and Hibiya subconsciously recoiled in his seat for a second – no doubt remembering those days of hellish training.

"He's the only one I know a bit about. Those prisoners idolize him like some of our newbies do you; they never shut up about him. I just spend a day down in the dungeons and suddenly I'm an expert on the supposedly legendary Kano Shuuya. It's ironic, really…Leader? Are you _crying_?"

"No, I'm not. Did you – did you just say 'Kano Shuuya'?"

I don't understand why my voice is so shaky – it can't be true, after all. He said he had business somewhere, and he promised that he would be safe. He must be on a plane somewhere, traveling back and forth between countries and regions. That was what he told me.

"Yes, I did." Hibiya answers a little quizzically. "Kano Shuuya, the blond guy with that condescending smirk you always told me about. You don't even know his name? I mean, I can understand why he doesn't know yours – Intelligence went to great lengths to keep your identity a secret – but Kano had a lot of publicity to his name. He was rather famous, you know, and some of your guards had a hard time fighting off his followers when they tried to assassinate you. I thought…"

"Hibiya." I interrupt him, ignoring the strange look he gives me completely. "Stop talking. _Please_."

"Are you okay, Leader? You look really pale. What's wrong?"

_Don't ask me what's wrong_. I want to scream at him. _Don't you dare._

"You're worrying me, Kido." For once in his life, Hibiya calls me by my actual name, fear and anxiety evident in his voice. "Is it something I said?"

"I –"

What can I tell him now? That I wasted a year waiting for someone who would never return to my side? That the reason he would never return to me is because I killed him with my own hands?

I refuse to think about that. I remember the battlefield, the two sides of the battle. He was there, his face disguised by a peculiar mask – I myself disguised my face with my trademark purple hoodie. We fought, and I barely emerged victorious – the rest of the details I have already forgotten. I now wish I haven't forgotten, because those memories are the only thing I have left of him.

My heart throbs with a dull, burning pain, but I've long lost the energy to scream.

* * *

I step lightly on the dark, worn-out stairs leading to the dungeons.

"Who are you?" The girl within the innermost cell asks, regarding me with a suspicious gaze. "Are you a soldier?"

I shake my head. "I was."

"Not anymore?"

I nod, and the girl seems to relax for just a moment. She still looks guarded, but that is to be expected – judging from her state, those soldiers don't treat her too well in the dungeons. Her hair is impossibly long, reaching her ankles and tied into twin tails. She's wearing standard prisoner attire, dirtied and smudged from days of hard work and drudgery, but she on the other hand remains defiant, obstinate.

"So, who are you? Much as I hate to say it, you look like death. You're supposed to be younger than me, right? The brunette kid said so."

"I am." I tell her. "My name is Kido Tsubomi. And I…I was the one who killed your leader."

The change is immediate in the girl's expression, so plain on the surface that I can describe it in detail. She reaches for my throat in a blind rush of anger, but the prison bars only allow her fingers to futilely reach within an inch of me. Her eyes glare at me, as if silently wishing for my gruesome death – I suppose in a way, that is exactly what her wish is.

"What do you want?" She grinds out. "To gloat? Don't waste your breath."

I understand why she acts like that, I do. If it were me, I would have done the same. I should do the same – go to another battlefield and die with honor to my name, in order to cover up his blood on my hands with even more innocent blood. I wonder if he would be proud, that I'm a fighter just like him and I bested him in a fight and I'm piling up lies after lies to erase evidence of my crime, just like he used to do.

Then again, I'm the one who killed him. I should know better than to ask for forgiveness.

"Tell me what you know about Kano Shuuya."

The twin-tailed girl snorts, her voice full of hatred. "For what? The only thing you ever know about him is that he died because of you – other than that, I don't see why you would need to know about a dead enemy."

"I know more than you think." I tell her forlornly, recounting all the memories that now just instill pain in my mind. "He was a consummate liar, complete with the trademark Cheshire Cat grin and perpetual smile. He has always been a precocious kid ever since he was six. He was especially good at magic tricks. He had a home he wanted to return to, but because he died…that was simply not possible. He had someone waiting for him in a cottage by the sea, who wrote him dozens of letters and who patiently waited for a year _until she found out that she was the one who killed him_. Need I say more?"

"…Oh my god." The girl says breathlessly. "You're her. You're the one he kept telling us about."

"I am."

"Then why did you do it?" She screams at me in desperation, shaking the steel bars in vain. "He said you loved him! He read your letters over and over until even we got sick of their sight; he was looking forward to when he could return to his peaceful life with you! And you – you…"

"Utterly destroyed that chance?" I supply unemotionally. "I noticed. But that's just how this relationship worked for us –we just lied and hoped that those lies wouldn't backfire in our faces. Go and say it's twisted, but we can't change."

The girl is silent, lost to her thoughts, and I mine. It just sounds so lonely that I can't believe I just said those words; it's painful, but at the same time so true it's even more heartbreaking. What am I going to do now? I've dedicated a whole year to wait for someone who wouldn't return; I've resigned as captain of the army, and I live in a secluded ghost of a home where nobody ever visits.

"_Don't undersell yourself."_ He used to smirk as I went on complaining about my uselessness, back when I was just a weak female soldier. _"You cook pretty well – that's why I keep you around, you know." _He would continue, to which I would reply by throwing whatever object within my reach at him and give him a kick in the shins for good measure.

"Hey…" The prisoner hesitantly speaks up, disrupting my train of thoughts. "If…if you still want to, I can tell you where his grave is. It's in a graveyard not very far from our palace, probably around twenty minutes from here – or at least, it's what I think. Those years in prison do blur your memory…"

"It wouldn't change anything." I reply dispassionately and stand up to leave.

"Why would it? I'm giving you a chance to mourn – not for you, but for Kano. I, for one, think you don't deserve to have a rat's chance of atonement, but he…well, you know what I mean. He will forgive you in a heartbeat."

My footsteps echo on the dark, rocky stone floor; Hibiya opens the door, and the sunlight blinds my eyes for a fleeting moment. The disconcerting sensation pass, but the memory of that blinding light is forever seared in my mind.

"Just one question."

The girl looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Until he died…" I take a deep breath, almost regretting the words I'm about to say. "Did he love me?"

The prisoner lets out a gruff laugh resounding throughout the dungeon that, to me, just seems spiteful. "See, this is why I said you don't deserve it. Shouldn't _you_ know?"

* * *

I sit alone in front of a table with two cups of coffee.

It's purely a force of habit, really; if I were in the right frame of mind, I would never waste energy for an extra cup of coffee. It's just that he can never make a halfway decent cup of coffee, so I've taken up making two cups every morning, that's all.

I stare at the steaming cups for a while and listen as the second hand ticks by. My eyes close for a second –

"_Aww, coffee? You shouldn't have."_

My eyes snap open and I look in surprise…at the empty chair, same as it has been moments ago.

That's right. He's gone now. I should just give up waiting – why wait when he'll never walk through that door again? I even saw his grave, a little weather-worn but still fresh; he's dead, I know that for sure.

Fresh tears streak down my cheeks again – aah, this is really annoying. I can't stop my tears, no matter what I do. I'm supposed to stay strong, and yet…my tears keep falling, and I'm reduced to a sobbing wreck most of the time.

I guess I'm as weak as Takane thinks I am. I don't even know if he loved me or not…why didn't I ask him, when he was alive? I took it for granted that he would always by my side, and now that I know he's gone…it breaks me like nothing else has ever managed to.

So this burning, agonizing sensation is the pain of losing a loved one. Those people I killed…did their wives and children and mothers feel the same way as I do now? Were they like me – unable to go about a day without bursting into tears, seeing his silhouette and his eyes and hear his haunting voice every way I turn? Regret strikes, and the blood on my hands are redder than ever, taunting me with pain and grief. _He's gone._ The crimson color laughs derisively. _Now you know how we feel. You're one of us_.

I don't want this life. It doesn't feel real – nothing does, not anymore.

"Hibiya..." I take a deep breath and say the words I have come to despise. "Tell Shintaro I would like my post back."

"Yes, ma'am."

Blood falls in droplets from my red-stained hand; from a million miles away, a blurry silhouette screams at me to stop, to free myself from the cursed fate. I know who that shadow was, but somehow, somehow -

I wonder why, I can't remember...

* * *

"I'll release you from this cell."

"What's the catch?"

"…"

"…I see. I promise."

* * *

I relive my nightmares once more.

Soldiers are fighting tooth and nail, but they will lose. In war, nobody wins. I knew that a year ago, and even now nothing has changed.

_Innocents are the first to fall. _

Houses light up like candles, the massive golden flame enveloping them all. Screams resound from the distance – children wail, women scream in despair, soldiers frantically run amok – and here I stand on the top of a cliff, the sounds never reaching my ears.

It's beautiful, actually. Fire licks the night sky, illuminating bright constellations in the sky above. To me, it feels like a festival of dancing bursts of flame. I blink my eyes once, twice, and I it feels as though it was just a few minutes ago when they shot the multicolored fireworks in the sky, washing both our faces with colors. That day was one of the only times I ever wore a yukata, and the first time I saw fireworks in my entire life.

"_You're beautiful, you know that?_" He said with a smile, and I slammed the door in his face.

I let out a dry laugh as the sky of that day turns the color of black smoke and charred remains.

"So this is where you are, Captain." Hibiya appears at my side. "The soldiers have been looking for you. What are you doing?"

"Watching." I say in a monotone.

He regards me quizzically. "As Captain of the army, shouldn't you be fighting?"

"Yes." He flinches at my bitter smile. "I should. But as someone in pursuit of revenge, I am watching the world burn before my eyes."

"How poetic." A new voice arrives at my left, and I don't need to look to know that it is Takane. Hibiya, ever the chivalrous soldier he is, immediately levels his sniper rifle at her. "Drama hardly suits you, Kido."

"You sound like Shuuya."

"Because that's what he told me about you. He used to talk so much about you it was annoying."

"Hey, hey!" Hibiya yelled fiercely, confused by this random exchange between two enemies. "What's going on? Leader, why are you talking to her like you're old friends?"

"Because we _are_, Chibiya." Takane grins mockingly. "We are working together to take down both countries, and the bomb should be exploding in three…two…one…"

With a massive, resounding sonic boom, the only thing left of the formerly beautiful palace is an explosion of light and ashes falling like snow. Soldiers and panicked citizens alike gawk at the scene with horror; but before they can react, the impact of the second bomb hit. The blinding white light shines upon the tear-streaked faces, the dumbfounded looks, the expressions I so hate – because they're just like me. That's what I am, broken and forever scarred by the knowledge that I dealt the final blow to end my own happiness…

I begin to laugh.

It's slow at first, but then the dry-sounding laugh escalates, becoming manic and frenzied, until I can hardly believe that this sound is my own. Out in the corner of my blurry eyes, I see Hibiya switch the rifle to aim at me, his eyes full of fear and bewilderment; Takane reaches for something in her belt –

"Did you see that, Shuuya?" I say breathlessly to no one in particular. "I avenged you! I brought _two _countries to their knees when you failed to go against just _one_! I-I –"

A gunshot rings out, lost within the pandemonium.

"I…" I look down at my loose military attire, where a dark red spot is spreading, staining the shirt with crimson blood. Takane's smoking barrel raises again, this time aimed at my head.

"You promised." My whisper blends in with the cutting wind, almost as if I was falling from this cliff – I never knew the sensation of the wind whipping by my face can be so comforting.

One day, maybe, if I could be healed…I want to come here again. I want to sit on the edge of the cliff and enjoy the sensation of the wind. I want to look at the exquisite view of the peaceful country and remember a time when I was happy, free from the shackles of the past. I want him to see me, at peace and safe as he'd always wanted me to be.

She pulls the trigger.

* * *

"You're too good a liar." I would tell him a bit sarcastically. "You wooed every girl in high school, remember? You always managed to say things those girls want to hear."

"What does it matter? You are the only one I actually cared about." He would smirk, and I would roll my eyes.

"…You're incorrigible, you know that?"

_If only time could be turned back, to those clockwork days I loved…_

.

.

.

* * *

Second A/N: If anybody read my Pokemon fic Militant (\shot for shameless plugging) you'd see that the plot is remarkably similar. Like, really. I had to double-check if I was rewriting Militant or not. Of course Militant is way more confusing and has a lot more cocktail references (seriously, my Internet service provider probably thinks I'm an alcoholic now), so I would recommend you guys stay away from it until I find the time to patch it up. I can't bear to read it again now, in all honesty.

Oh, yeah, I knew I was forgetting something. *spoiler*: 'Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds': any type of character who makes you feel extremely sorry for them, with the added bonus that the destroyer in question has been pushed beyond all reason. Copyrighted TVTropes. Of course, me being me, I totally failed this one.


End file.
